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lua May 2020
the trees sway with the gentle afternoon breeze
as the hot day ticks by
the familiar whirr of a car zooms through an empty street
as joggers jog along the lonely pavement
stray cats hiss and scratch
a dog wanders alone
the busy life i once lived through
seems like a blurred dream
but this is a season finale
and a long, stretched out hiatus of some sort
and soon the next episode will start
life goes on.
Eleanor Apr 2020
Today we talked about Christmas  
and saw a Liverpool match on T.V.
While we tried not to let these things hurt,
Because that’s life for my family and me.

Yesterday I saw a red car
And friends of his walked by.
I also heard his favourite song.
And Robert asked when horse would die.

We must always count the dinner plates
And number of seats in the car.
We must constantly watch our words
Because pain is never far.

There are more red things in my life now
Than back when Aaron was alive.
I didn’t do that on purpose  
The colour just seems to thrive.

And if he was still here  
I'd share a Spanish teacher with him.
And still see jam on table clothes.
And porridge bowls filled to the brim.

I wear a red heart around my neck
And a blue one for me.
The green one’s on its way in the mail
To represent child number three.

I still use Viber to talk to people
But there’s no annoying messages to see.
And I always see boys with bright curly hair,
Whenever I feel lonely.

My runners look like the ones we bought him
Just before he died.
And dinner tomorrow would have been his favourite.
Something spicy, slow roasted, not dried.

Today we talked about Christmas  
And watched a Liverpool match on T.V.
And because these were once happy times,
They will now never be pain free.
There are a lot of small things related to loss that happen everyday. Everyone's experience is different but similar in how they affect you.
lua Mar 2020
Coffee cups and midnight snacks
The gentle breeze as the people pass
The sunset against the windows of a car
Observing life from afar

Diamond glints on cracked road
The embroidered patch that I sewed
On my bag that rests on the empty chair
It says "I don't mind, I don't care"

Life goes on as it does
As lonely as it may seem
The flowers will bloom, the bees will buzz
I'll live life peacefully.
Michael Stefan Feb 2020
The scent fills my kitchen
Powerfully of garlic and cumin
Crockpot steaming as chili heats
With the aroma of coriander
Wafting to the neighbors
As the lamb begins to broil

The kitchen is awash
As the fragrance of yeast grows
sweet bread baking in the oven
Cinnamon and nutmeg
Dance a pirouette delectably
As apple pie cools

This kitchen is alive
The delights that we shared here
We made love once
It was on a cold night after dinner
Right there on that counter
Currently occupied by flour

This kitchen has grown cold
Only salt and pepper do remain
like sentinels to lost times
The microwave dings
It's all I use since you left
TV dinner turns to ash in my mouth
One thing that is the most painful after losing someone is being reminded of them in activities that you used to love.  Sometimes it's a growing feeling that slowly coalesces into something that makes you weep.  Other times it hits you like a freight train out of nowhere.  Sometimes we don't realize how integral to our daily lives and relationships something as simple and common as cooking can be.  If you are going through this hold on strong.  You'll get back to cooking soon.  I hope you enjoy the poem.
LeV3e Apr 2019
It's pretty easy to write when you have a topic in mind and emotions are high.
When love is swelling inside, or
When the pain is overwhelming you.
But its a lot harder, for me, to capture
Beauty in day to day moments,
Mundane reality, repeating itself like a
Daily alarm reminding you that it's time to be "creative"...
I want my art to be genuine, and
They can tell when you try too hard to be noticed, but it's not easy either,
Too really put yourself out there.
It takes a lot of effort, and practice, and raw talent, that you may or may not have, but theres something pulsing, something beating in your chest that just wishes it could display itself...
I long for recognition, please, hit that
LIKE button, so I know, at least, that this meager life I'm living might mean something to someone.
When I go on the bus
I always sit at the back
So I can watch the whole of it,

Well, sad thing is I always go over the engine
And if it blows up
I'm the first to go.

We're never safe and comfortable, are we?
july 3, 2017
4:38 p.m.
Jay Kay May 2016
I walked up broad street
With my skirt tucked into my pants
And a kind stranger told me about it
And now I can't stop checking my ****.
NeroameeAlucard Dec 2015
Don't you hate it when your train of thought is moving consistently and then something derails it?
Another idea or just a random thought pops into your head and displaces
Your concentration, this happens all too often now
With technology improving attention span goes down

and the more it goes down
the less kids play outside
and the less homework gets done

So as the sun sets all I can say is
Distractions are constant but attention you can afford to pay

you just gotta learn what you're paying to
and if the cause is really worth it because
the time you got on this here planet
is all you've got
A collab with mI amiga Jules
Oscar Mann Nov 2015
Last night I closed my eyes
And walked through the abandoned city
Where people hide behind the windows
With closed eyes
Imagining someone’s walking by
Oscar Mann Nov 2015
From within the safety of the train compartment
Memories, written in stone, glide by
There’s the Roman church
With the statue of the priest and his dog
And the enigmatic farm
Where llamas and ostriches stride
And that one funky albino kangaroo
And after that comes the castle
Which in my mind is inhabited
By an anachronistic loner
A degenerate nobleman
Who hides within his fortress
Hoping that the days of old come back
And after wasted grandeur comes earnest cosines
Carefree children playing football
While their grandfathers smoke
And discuss the Tour de France
And eat Boules de Berlin
Images that I have seen a hundred times before
But  the celebration of triviality
Has never been so precious to me
As these images, gliding by, through the window
Written inside my memory
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